


Twin Prop Airplanes Passing Loudly Overhead

by stardustedknuckles



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Emotion Without Plot, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 08:42:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21317332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustedknuckles/pseuds/stardustedknuckles
Summary: On the way from college to visit Ronan, Adam makes a stop at Monmouth and is promptly sucked into his thoughts and fears and memories.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Kudos: 11





	Twin Prop Airplanes Passing Loudly Overhead

**Author's Note:**

> "Just put your music on shuffle and write 100 words based on whatever comes up," my friend said.  
"Okay," I said. "Wow this band is an entire trc mood," I said.  
So maybe this will be the first of many.

There’d been no traffic coming down, not even on the road that led to the airport. Adam shut the door to the BMW and squinted against the sun settling atop Monmouth Manufacturing. In late July, Henrietta was an exhaled breath, the pause between one lungful of life and the next. Swathed in golden hour, the tall weeds tracked through the parking lot like burning stitches across the back of a great dry beast. Adam watched their whip-thin shadows straining for the far side of the lot, waving, waving.

  


Sweat was already beginning to bead under Adam’s collar; it dissolved gratefully into the fabric of his shirt as he looked up and tracked the distant drone of a plane to its source as it crawled over the treeline and on through the still sky. A small, sudden thrill of panic, the overwhelming sense that if he didn’t climb back in the car right now, it would vanish and all he would ever be was here. Adam breathed through the anxiety, letting his eyes rest on the vacant spot where the Pig used to sleep – the way the sunlight almost bent around the suggestion of a familiar silhouette as if to say, “yes, I remember it too.”

  


The lack of something like the Pig felt like it _should_ leave a negative space, offer some kind of an inverted imprint of itself upon the very fabric of reality to bridge the gap between the familiarity it brought and the foreign place Monmouth Manufacturing became without the promise of its return. But there was only cracked, sun-sapped asphalt and the chattering of the bugs that had made their homes among the dry weeds, jutting from beneath as if to further pry apart the unmoored, tectonic blacktop. _Why did I come?_  
  
Adam startled as the generic chiming of his phone signaled from within the car seconds later. He never had his ringer on, but something about the way the Bluetooth connected bypassed the volume settings and made the normally separate system volume as loud as whatever he’d been listening to. He’d turned the music off when he pulled up, but he hadn’t turned it down. Adam pulled the door back open and braced an arm on the top of the car to lean and make out the words on the small display. “Old MacDonald” scrolled where a song title would normally be, supplemented below with a familiar string of numbers. Something shifted in the set of his eyes, the crease of his mouth relaxing around the edges. He took a last look at Monmouth and curled slender fingers around the frame of the door to slide himself back into the cool carriage of the BMW with a calculated tap of his other hand on the display.  
  
“Parrish,” Ronan said immediately. There was something in his mouth and then a rustle that scraped the speakers as he fumbled the phone with a distant and garbled “piece of-“ and then his voice cleared. “You get lost?” Adam felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the summer sun give way in his chest and begin to flow. A smile formed in spite of itself, slow and smooth.  
  
He considered Ronan’s question as he put the car in reverse. “Close,” he said. “But I figured it out in the end.”


End file.
